


La Réalité

by peccadilloes



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peccadilloes/pseuds/peccadilloes
Summary: Best friends they had to call each other. Which they were, fully.





	La Réalité

**Author's Note:**

> ["La Réalité"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtcxp6yb1qc) by Amadou & Mariam

Like any other women their age, Maria and Carol had ideas. Visions, plans. Racing in the sky would've been one dream come true, but it wasn't. Hard enough even to get into the Force, into a cockpit.

That they couldn't fly _together_ didn't matter so much as long as they could fly side-by-side. All those asshole dudes smacking Carol's ass and calling Maria worse than the shit she'd wiped off her boots back home in Louisiana. Still, wasn't it worth it? To be women who fly?

"We shouldn't have to take this," Carol said. They were at the bar and one of the guys had just pulled one of those _you drink beer, pretty girl?_ before swiping Carol's bottle.

Maria just shook her head, closed her eyes. Laughed almost. "Girl, you think is bad."

"I know for you it's always worse," Carol said. Still that didn't stop her from following the jerk back to his table, placing her hand firm on his shoulder, and looking him in the eyes.

From the distance, Maria knew exactly what Carol was saying: _you know why the call it a cockpit, right?_ She came back with the beer and $15 cash. The guy hunched down, a little defeated look on his face but wouldn't budge.

"So there'll be no karaoke tonight?" Maria said.

"Just wait," Carol said. She flagged over the bartender.

"What are you up to now, Carol?" he said.

She put the cash down. "As many tequila shots as this'll buy us. And why don't you kick that guy out?" She took a swig out of her bottle. "He swiped my beer."

The bartender exchanged glances with Maria. "We wanna sing tonight," she said.

"Fair's fair," the bartender offered. He took the cash and signaled to the muscle, who dragged the guy out by his collar. Or that's how they'd choose to remember it.

 

*

_Best friends_ they had to call each other. Which they were, fully. Had to flex the words to contain everything that they were to each other. When they guys called them a bunch of dykes, trash, brought Monica's name into it, threatened to get them kicked out of the force for it -- _out,_ another word stretched beyond its limits to mean its worst --  Dr. Lawson would run her fingers through her hair and tell them just to fly harder. "They think they work they're doing is important," she'd say. "It isn't."

*

Sweaty and sung out, tequila giddy, and into the ladies room. The second stall again. Racing, per usual: who could get whose fingers wet, whose pants unzipped first while they made out. Laughing. "Let me," Carol said. She was working her hand against the seam of Maria's jeans, her thigh wedged between Maria's legs. Finding a rhythm. 

 


End file.
